Time to Heal
by T-Chan the Excellent
Summary: Writing is an escape for Ryou, composing the stories is his ultimate release, and for Malik, reading them returns him lost freedom. Still, reality claws them back to it, and as the past resurfaces, a story idea becomes the center of their real life drama.


**Chapter One:: Foreign Policy**

_Swing Swing – The All-American Rejects_

"_Dreams cast into the sky / I'm moving on / sweet beginnings do arise / she knows I was wrong /_

_the notes are old, / they bend, they fold / and so do I, to a new love~"_

_For Ryô Bakura_

It was hard to pick out anything over the din and chatter of the freshly crowded restaurant. Lunch breaks had just let out, and busy people who craved a good, sit down meal had flocked to the quaint, comfortable little diner that had somehow wormed its way amongst the bustling companies. Even better was how it was within walking distance of _Kaiba Corporation_, the biggest company in all of Domino, and certainly at least _amongst_ the biggest throughout all of Japan. With the kind of noise these hardworking pencil pushers made during those scarce moments the boss wasn't looking, finding any phrase or sentence on purpose was nearly impossible.

That was why Ryou loved this time best. His favorite ideas always sparked from something that seemed so completely out of place, that it demanded he create a whole new universe, just for it.

"-- We need three Oreo shakes, two normal one large, a steak and fries, side of chicken noodle, medium rare, and a serving of onion rings!" One of the other waiters, Kajimu Jin, calling out what he'd gathered at the same time he passed the paper to the cooks, in order to save them some reading time. Clever guy.

_Long day at work, longer day ahead, but my girlfriend finally accepted the fact that I love her, and she even sai--_

"-- but I couldn't figure out how to process the information," it sounded like a lady, young voice but time-worn tone, animated but purely by annoyance. "I tried my damn best, but it just wasn't _good enough_ for him!"

_Every day, every night, I work and I slave and I work. First for my employer, than for that heartless __bastard__ I'm supposed to be calling my husband, and then for the nightmares that all this stress ha--_

"-- predictable. Again, the place is crammed," moody old guy. If Ryou stood on his tip-toes and squinted over the mahogany half-wall placed to box in the extra drink mix section, that little place where the waiters and waitresses could refill sodas or ring up receipts, he could see the guy, tall, balding, wearing a crisp gray suit and talking to a shorter, younger, more stout man beside him. "I say we go eat somewhere else. I'm sick of standing around waiting for a seat, wasting my precious break time. It's not like _Kaiba_ gives us mu--"

"Honey, hold _still_!" The pleading whine of a young mother, fussing over her young child. Ryou dropped flat on his feet again, shifting to peer around the edge of the wall into the No-Smoking section. It was odd, to see any sort of family in here around this time. The kid looked nothing like her mother; short, spunky auburn hair, versus a graying natural blonde. The kid's bony, lithe frame versus her mother's look of a little too many sweets, a little too few exercise sessions. "You have to give it time to _heal_!" Probably, that was in response to the cast wrapped around the kid's right arm, and the fact that she was trying to climb onto the table in front of her.

"No way, mom!" the young girl snapped defiantly, though she did fall back to sit in her booth seat again. "I _have_ to use my hands! I can't stop, I _need_ them! I _have_ to! Or everyone else wi--"

As that corner of the world faded out of focus, in favor of something about rottweilers and chamomile tea, Ryou's mind faded in to a deeper state of thought.

_You have to give it time to heal... I know you __have__ to keep using it. There's no way you would be able to __not__ use it. However, that doesn't mean you can't let it rest a little... Push away unnecessary strain. It isn't too hard, as long as you are dedicated. Everything will be better, once it's healed..._

Yes. That was _good_. It would need to be rephrased, but it was still a diamond waiting to be cut. Ryou grinned to himself, stepping back safely behind the half-wall and ignoring the scolding look Jin sent his way while trying to refill someone's diet Coke. No, Ryou had more important things to worry about, he reminded himself, digging into his pants pocket for his mini note pad.

... Crud. It wasn't there.

That cued panic mode, as Ryou knew very well how short his memory was with words. A look of distress crossed his face, and he began fumbling around for something, _anything_ to write on.

"Ohhhh, no, not _again_," he whimpered under his breath, still failing to locate a sufficient source of pape--.

Eh, what harm could it do?

Ryou smiled at his own cleverness, yanking the order pad out of the pocket of his black smock belt thing (Heaven forbid he'd been listening when they explained these things). In a bit of a rush, he tore off the first page, flipped it over, and began scribbling.

_Time to Heal._

_Supposed to give it a rest, but need it._

He stopped a moment, frowning and tapping the pen against his lip. Another spark of inspiration (always nice when these things work out!), and he started scribbling letters again. Except, the ink suddenly wasn't flowing, so he had to swirl it in circles a few times, before the thing actually behaved. (Remember? Things were _supposed_ to be _working out_ here!)

_It's not easy to rest your Heart._

_Especially when you're falling in Love._

Tactical use of capitals, a couple cute lil' hearts around it for emphasis, _aaaannnnnddd_-- Perfect! Ryou beamed at the page, his mini!doodles, and the unnecessary curlicue stroke meant to accent the perfection of it all. People ate up romance, right? And there was no end of material for that, so he could easi--

"_**BAKURA RYOU!"**_

The young man jolted upward, gracefully smacking his head against the very mahogany he'd been using to hide behind only moments before. "Oh, h-hi Otama-Sama," Ryou said anxiously, an uneasy smile parting his lips as he straightened a bit more carefully this time, rubbing the fresh wound on the back of his skull.

His employer, Otama Shin, was a rather intimidating man, especially for only five-foot two. Eyes small, dark, and almost always narrowed in scrutiny, he had a build that suggested, give or take twenty years, he had a powerful body and a good skill at athletics. Nowadays, most of Otama's exercise came from snapping at his employees, and making them run around, frantically trying to accommodate for the considerable bulk of customers Otama somehow managed to attract to his precious Shining Valley Palace. This olive-skinned, dark eyed, darker-haired, harsh seeming old man was a stark contrast to Ryou, and the young man had often been noted on how standing next to Otama seemed to bring out Ryou's natural beauty even more so.

Relatively tall (relative most Japanese people, anyway), Ryou was lithe, with barely any visible tone to his muscles. He also possessed a pallor that would likely be alarming on most people, if his hair was even one shade darker than the ghost-white it was in sunlight. In fact, the only aspect of him that did not enforce this light and pastel appearance was his eyes, brown in hue. However, it was such a deep and warm shade, that this failed to have any affect to the overall softness that was Ryou's natural countenance.

Something quite annoying, if one wanted to be taken seriously as a young man.

Er, but, that was irrelevant to the current situation, wasn't it?

"--diot boy, are you even LISTENING!" Otama was very much yelling now, and had gathered the attention of almost the entire restaurant.

_Uh-oh..._

"Uhm, yes, sorry, Otama-Sama!" Ryou said in a quick, very apologetically polite tone, bowing just as quick and, just as gracefully as last time, hitting his head on a lone fold-tray, for setting platters and things (yeah, Ryou had no idea what that was called, either). In unison with his sharp "Ow!", one of those afore mentioned platters fell to the floor, thankfully with a resounding thud instead of the sweet melody of porcelain breaking. Thank God for carpets. "Oh, I am.. very, very sorry, Otama-Sama!" Ryou said, his words straining as he now rubbed the top of his head.

Use the guilty puppy eyes, Ryou. No one can stay mad at the puppy eyes.

... Except maybe Otama Shin, considering the harsh glare Ryou was now receiving. The man had his thick arms crossed over his chest, and was tapping one foot at Ryou impatiently.

"Eh heh, sorry, Otama-Sama," Ryou tried again, very carefully bending down and picking up the platter, thanking whomever that it hadn't had any food on it, and then placing it back on the folding tray thing. Then, still under Otama's harsh gaze, he picked up his order pad, and pen, the sheet of paper, then stood up once more.

"... All right then, Bakura, what did I say?" the restaurant owner said in a hard, skeptical voice. Ryou blinked those deep brown puppy eyes, and fidgeted with the pad, as if hoping to squeeze the answer out of it.

"Eh heh... Err...," Ryou fumbled, both mentally and physically, trying to drag up the information from his subconscious mind. Or, hold on, wait... wait... Oh, duh! Ryou smacked his forehead, earning a very puzzled look from his boss. Grinning again, Ryou nodded his head and closed his eyes. "Okay, I got it!"

"Let's hear it, then," Otama said skeptically, voice still cold enough that Ryou had to open his eyes and pout. Oh, the suffering if he had this wrong...

"If I remember correctly, it was something along the lines of 'Bakura Ryou! What did I tell you last time? We have X number of customers with Y number of other ones waiting to be seated, and you are standing around here doing nothing!'," there was another wise nod as the boy recounted these words. "You know I tolerate your little scribble parties, but not when we are this busy, and not on company paper! If you want to do this sort of nonsense, do it on your time, and on your paper!' " Ryou paused briefly, still anxious as he tried to judge Otama's expression for some hint of whether or not he was going to be completely deep fried here.

Well, after all, they had an entire restaurant full of hungry customers for audience. It might be good advertisement, or something, right?

"Did I... get that correctly, Otama-Sama?" he said in a small, soft voice after another moment. The entire restaurant waited, breathless, to see whether or not Ryou was about to get totally slaughtered, or worse, fired.

Or at least that was how it felt to Ryou.

Slowly, far too slowly for Ryou's comfort, Otama's expression eased some, finally becoming calm, maybe even a bit light in mood. "You have far too much fun saying my name like that, Ryou," he finally said, giving a quirk of a grin that finally set Ryou's pounding heart at ease. "Get back to work, all right? And don't let me catch you slacking off during our busiest hours again. I'm running really low on the breaks I can cut you, without your co-workers needing more too."

Ahhh, sometimes it was good to be a likable, lovable person.

"Yes'sir, Otama-Sama!" Ryou said brightly, doing a poor imitation of an army salute, before tucking the paper note scrap in his pocket. "I will get right back to work, Otama-Sama!" He gave his boss a slightly devious smile then, adding "I do believe I have gotten what I need for the day, anyway."

Ryou's boss rolled his eyes, now smiling properly, and relaxing his posture as he prepared to start off to attend to other things. As far as Ryou's mind perceived things, the restaurant patrons returned to their own lives. "Sometimes, I don't know what to do with you, Bakura," his boss noted while he began turning away.

"Heh, I get that a lot, Otama-Sama," the young man replied in his usual unprecedentedly sweet voice. "So don't feel too singled out."

Otama Shin just rolled his eyes again, walking back toward the kitchen and leaving Ryou to his work. Back at table six in the Smoking section, Kajimu Jin scowled. Once again, the stupid brat had wiggled out of trouble with his too-cute face and his too-awkward antics. But, hey, it wasn't that hard to catch the kid slacking off--- he did it all the time, day-dreaming, or making too much chit-chat with the customers, spacing out, or tripping (on "purpose", of course) in order to make time to sit around on his cute, useless little butt.

Eventually, Jin would get him fired. It was just a matter of time.

No one had to know. And, the former thief, the former spirit, the former self-proclaimed antagonist of the infidelity that was his native "government", had no intention of letting anyone find out. He had been "the Great Thief King Bakura-Sama", and he had been "Yami no Bakura", the darker spirit of the boy Bakura Ryou. He had been "the Evil Spirit of the Sennen Ring", and he had been the very manifestation of "the Dark God Zorc Necrophades". Now, he was going to be his own person. No titles, no epic causes. No evil, and no possession. Just a man, and nothing more, and nothing less.

Not that he felt he still deserved that, but, hey, on some level he was still the Thief King, and he was going to take this right one way or another. As long as he was here, and no one knew, there wasn't any reason not to take it.

Clearly, old habits die hard. Especially when the habits are that old.

However, if he wanted to stay outside the knowledge of any of his old... "acquaintances", he really shouldn't go by the name "Bakura" anymore. Which wasn't to say there was only one "Bakura" in all of Japan, but simply that, thanks to the lingering physical resemblance, it would be best not to press his luck. So, conceding to both his need for symbolism, and for individualism (because Yami no Bakura did not believe in conformity), he had chosen the Japanese phrase "Kurai Tenshi" to be his name, a phrase meaning "Dark Angel" (or "Noble Angel"). And for an added bonus, the "angel" note provided some very much appreciated irony. Indeed, it was the best of all the fields.

So, as Kurai Tenshi, the former (and still part-time) thief obtained himself some birth records and the like (not exactly legally, but....), got himself a little working money and a place to stay (this one a considerable bit more 'legally'...), and, to crown off the guise of normalcy without selling his soul into the slavery of the working class, got himself enrolled in a local college (obviously, this one was fully legal and legitimate-- Bakura may be a cheater, but he could not live with himself if he lied about what he knew).

Living like this, he could get used to being in the mortal world without being in a host, and, as Kurai Tenshi, he could get used to not trying to correct the countless injustices of the world as a whole. So it was, under these circumstances, and under these conditions, that Yami no Bakura became Kurai Tenshi, and joined the ranks of foolish mortals whom he had previously been prosecuting mercilessly.

Hey, if they didn't know he'd done anything, then they didn't have reason to care. And since no one was going to tell them, Kurai was free to live his life in relative anonymity.

Which then brings us to right now, in the halls of Otaku General College of Art and Design, and the huge problem that Kurai is facing right now.

"No way, you ran into ME! So, like, apologize NOW!" a young, squirrelly, shrill little woman was snapping, too-big eyes narrowed at Kurai and his white hair, her arms wrapped too tight and too desperately around the too unorganized papers and notebooks piled in her grip.

Kurai snarled, a much more intimidating sight; tall, slender, yet powerful, and well versed in the ways of scaring people out of their minds. Literally. "I do not apologize, to anyone, ever!" he snapped back, tone as murderous as his past, hands clenched into fists at his side. He never really had learned the patience necessary for interacting calmly with most people. "And so I demand that you shut your worthless trap, turn the fuck around, and just get over it."

Yes, his peace-keeping skills were lacking, but at least he tried, right?

"As if!" the squirrel-woman said, scowling in a very non-threatening way. "I'm not going anywhere until you apologize! So, get groveling!"

And, ohhh, if she hadn't been in trouble before! After putting up with this for almost a whole two minutes, Kurai was very much out of patience. Enough so that, despite his usual self-standards, he got physical-- grabbed the girl by her turtleneck sweater and pinned her against the wall, his sharp, blood and brown colored eyes narrowed in the most vicious of unspoken threats.

"I do not have time for your bull, woman," Kurai said through a snarl, reveling in the pleasure of seeing her so suddenly torn from undeserved arrogance to unexpected fear. "I have places to be, and even if you don't have anything better to do with your time, I am not going to humor your incompetence any longer."

Heavens forbid he point out all the time he'd spent arguing and waiting for her to walk away, prior to this moment.

"I-I'm gonna have you convicted for this--!" she choked out haltingly, a reaction that just seemed to quell the thief's temper, and make him smirk, slowly and knowingly.

"Good," he stated flatly, releasing her and stepping back. "I could use something interesting in my life right about now." And without another thought, he turned on his heel, and started down the college's halls once again, pointedly remaining blissfully unaware of just how irrational that entire scenario had been.

Things had happened like that a lot for Yami no Bakura, since he'd established his life. In trying to maintain focus, he would fail to pay attention to his surroundings. A lot of the time, this ended with him being shoved into conflicting 'social situations', such as that one with the squirrelly woman. Once immersed in these situations, he would then fail to process both the situation, and his own standards for his behavior. Because of this, his retorts became lacking, and he would only notice and take the (usually obvious) exit after the situation had escalated into the realm of him craving actual, physical suffering as retribution.

Or in other words, Kurai was out of control, because Yami no Bakura had not yet figured out how to be his new persona, and still himself, at the same time. He had no script or guidelines for being Kurai, except what he knew about himself, and yet, since he was supposed to be trying to be someone else at the same time, well...

Well, the paradoxical rule of the human mind was all too applicable here. One more annoyance, to be subjected to such a fundamentally primitive rule.

Making his way through the streets of Domino, Kurai Tenshi left a trail of darkness behind him, even still. How was it that somehow his presence, even in what he could only assume to be a normal, mortal-flesh form, could still leave such a thing? As he passed and pushed his way through crowds of busy, lunch-craving Japanese business men, a number of them would stop, or pause. Would suddenly seem alerted, or would jump, as though their phone had very suddenly gone off, and startled them quite a bit.

It may just be the aura he gave off-- often something dark and brooding, he almost always had that tint of danger to him, brought about by just how faltering his self-control could be. It might have even just been his appearance, so similar to his former Host Bakura Ryou's, but a small inch or two taller, figure better built and more defined, still pushing the borderline of having people label him as an albino. Between the mood and purpose he walked with, and the out of place colors of his appearance, between the dangerous beauty and the unwavering certainty that he walked with, Kurai attracted a lot of attention when making his way through town. It was a risk he took, though, for lack of having figured out a less conspicuous way of doing things, and a risk he took in Domino, because in all honesty, it hadn't been long enough that Yami no Bakura, that Kurai, was confident on how fast he could learn to navigate a new urban terrain. So on he would go, doing only what he had to, or what he wanted to do.

Right now, his incredibly righteous task was to locate himself some good ol' fashion lunch. Same as many of the business men rushing around this area of town.

His choices, however, were limited by his budget, and his budget, being limited by his financial aid, and mental weakness (or lack thereof) in regards to just stealing it. And in being so limited, these options weren't exactly extensive, so...

As usual, it came down to Starbuck's, Burger King (fuck it if he was going to eat at McDonald's), that quaint little sit-down hovel, Shining Valley Palace (original name, huh?), or the food court at Kaiba Corporation Shopping Structure, more accurately (and less egotistically) referred to as "the Mall".

So, as usual, it came down to Starbuck's, or the Mall.

And, as usual, Kurai opted for the Mall.

Much as he'd like to go back to that little Shining Hovel, it was a little too expensive for Yami no Bakura's budget, and a little too trying on his patience. Yes, they had great food and decent service, but especially at this time of day... It just was not worth it.

He would go back eventually, yes, but... Eventually was not today.

Despite the passionate and unwavering beliefs of the fanbase, _eventually_ having Edward Cullen staring dramatically in your general direction gets old (and a little creepy). So, as one might imagine, having at least two dozen portraits of him doing this for almost eight hours every weekday, does not make the process and effect any less unnerving.

Still, _Twilight_ was making good money for Hot Topic, and that had to count for _something_. At least to the employers, anyway.

To Malik Ishtar, however, it was just one more mass-obsession based annoyance. Just barely above the _Gir_ notebooks and the _Hello Kitty_ sticker packs. All the time he spent in this store, he'd pretty much figured out all the superficial market trends. Learned under what degrees of stupidity a twenty-four year old woman carrying _Tinkerbell_ on her shirt required, and just how thick a guy had to be to buy his girl some skull-embroidered lingerie, while standing next to a fourteen year old brat shifting through the poor-people's merchandise-- pins adorned with quirky phrases, and fake mustache packs. Indeed, he'd seen all levels of conformist stupidity, and of artificial individuality, all levels of self-proclaimed suffering and self-inflicted existential angst.

He had also, on more than one occasion, had the absolute _pleasure_ of ringing up a purchase or two by none other than the highly esteemed _Pharaoh_. Yes, apparently, Yuugi shopped at Hot Topic. But, what was _truly_ shockingly, was that, now, so did the Pharaoh Atemu.

When or why the elder King of Games had returned to Japan, and of his own form, neither would tell Malik. In fact, whenever asked of it, they would tense up, and attempt, in a very rigid manner, to dodge or drop the question. Consequently, Atemu would narrow his eyes defensively, and Yuugi's would widen at the idea of accidentally revealing the truth. Which only made Malik more curious.

However, since they weren't telling, there wasn't a whole lot he could do. And, if he pried too much, they might stop coming as often, or else go to a different store, and then if _that_ happened, well.... Malik's boss would have Malik's cute Egyptian ass mounted over the store front, as a warning to other employees, and a lure for any passing women.

Again, the day was dragging on, and the only thing Malik could come up with to do, was muse upon the horrible mediocrity of his current life. He would wake up in the morning (around seven), eat, go to work (around nine), get out of work (around four), eat, go home, and then eventually sleep (around eleven). Every weekday. Then, the only thing special about weekends, would be watching his cartoons and dramas, and _not_ going to work.

Or, at least, that was how it would have been, if he hadn't run into Ryou that one time...

No, as things were, the monotony of this schedule was broken up, by the simple act of _reading_.

At the beginning of any given week, Malik would stop off at the library before work, and pick up two to five books, which he would then read throughout the subsequent days. Occasionally, after work but before going home, he would stop off at the library again, and write a quick eMail to either his sister or brother, the first still in Egypt and the second somewhere in America, on a "personal quest". On weekends, he'd often find himself lurking either in front of his TV while _Bakugan_ fought their strange little epic card battles (which gave Malik nauseating nostalgia), watching Dr. House or Dr. Grey drama it up amongst traumatic illnesses, at one of the library computers IMing with one of his siblings, or at Ryou's apartment, more or less just taking up space.

Most of all, though, Malik enjoyed his time at Ryou's, because Ryou had apparently decided to become a _writer_. And Malik had found there was something special, about being able to influence the story you're reading, without having to turn to page seventy-two for choosing to go into the old warehouse, or forty-one if you chose to head back to the café. So it had come that Malik was now friends with Ryou, well enough that Ryou even mentioned preferring Malik call him by his _first name_ (something Ryou had begun permitting people close to him to do ever since everything with the Shadow Games had been sorted out). And, as wonderful consequence of this, Malik was also the first to hear when Ryou struck gold on new material.

Now if only the kid would actually _finish_ one of his longer stories, then Malik would _really_ be happy with the whole thing.

So it was that, during this boring and slow mid-day, leaning against the counter and tapping his fingers impatiently, partaking in yet another staring contest with _Edward Cullen_, that Malik was jolted back to reality by the jingle of his phone receiving a text message. The Egyptian scrambled to silence it only partway through, and cast a quick glance around him to see if the boss was watching. He wasn't allowed to read if there was even _one_ customer in the store, and only him watching the floor, because he had a tendency to totally zone into the story, and therefore not be at all in-tune with the _actual_ world. Which, of course, resulted in bad things when you were supposed to be working.

Thankfully, a text message was not a book, and being the only one watching the floor, meant no one was watching _him_. Plus, it wasn't like either of those pretentious "anti-preps" were going to do anything bad during the next few seconds, right?

Malik pulled out his _Razr_, tried and failed the whole graceful flip open thing, then actually got it opened, and checked the text.

_M-- hit gold again c:_

_time 2 heal -- "its hard 2 give ur 3 a rest / especially when ur falling in love"_

The Egyptian snorted, rolling his eyes and flipping the phone shut. Oh, that one was going to be fun. Most of the "hopeless romantic" stuff Ryou came up with, Malik found vaguely annoying, but... overall, it was good, and it came with more interesting stuff, wasn't _too_ cut-and-paste, so Malik could easily tolerate it. He began the repetitive pressing of numbers in order to churn out a response.

_meet u outside ur work? still 5?_

.... It might sound flirty if you squinted, but since Malik didn't make a regular habit of squinting, and he knew better than to think that, it wasn't of any concern to him.

A flicker of something unusual in Malik's peripheral vision made his head snap up, and he had to blink his purple eyes a number of times before his mind accepted the sight enough to let it register.

Across from _Hot Topic_, in the mall's food court, was standing someone slight, pale, and with kind-of long white hair. There was absolutely no mistaking that appearance-- Bakura Ryou was standing in line at _Subway_. Except...

That was _not_ Bakura Ryou. Because Ryou didn't have that kind of glaring capacity, nor did he ever stand with such a rigid, at attention, and ready-to-react-to-even-the-slightest-sign-of-threat posture. Oh no, instead, Ryou looked lost, or deep in some day-dream based sub-reality, and often it didn't occur to him to react to threat until after he'd already been hit, or fallen over. So, then...

"Trick of the eye...," Malik muttered under his breath, watching the now incredibly interesting and suspicious figure with the utmost epitome of his attention. Except, he was finding it kind of hard to write it off as that, considering he'd already seen Yuugi and the Pharaoh standing side by side, and both able to pick up different studded armbands, halfway across the store from each other. Malik shook his head and scanned the store's customer populace-- still just two anti-preps.

Oh, great. Now where was _Kyoko_ when you needed her? "Stupid woman needs to have her head checked for rocks," the Egyptian said under his breath, sighing and going back to leaning against the counter, now staring at the potential customers instead of Edward Cullen. Well, if he couldn't go out and investigate himself, the _least_ he could do was affirm his present theory, that that was _not_ Ryou over in line at Subway, down at the Mall's food court.

_Ry -- btw, were r u?_

Malik made an exaggerated groan of grief, head falling backward to stare up at the ceiling. If these days got any more boring, he'd probably have to shoot himself. Or go back to Egypt, but under the circumstances he'd left-- ie, considering the fact Isis and Rishid had practically _kicked him out_-- that probably wasn't a viable option. Which meant, after this was proven to be nothing, his existence would drag on again, going back to being such a monotony of normalcy, that only falling back on Ryou's favorite safety-- fantasy-- could possibly fill the void.

Sometimes, you can find a person, who can make even the most boring and disastrous day seem perfect. However, so far, Malik had had little to _no_ luck finding this person.

"Uhm, _hey_, we'd like to check out now," one of the anti-preps interrupted Malik's thoughts, forcing him to stand up straight again, and put his phone back in his pocket. The other one, the one with the temporary-hair-spray-green all over her unnaturally straight hair, and bordering her scalp, set down their four purchase choices. Somehow, Malik managed not to gag at the superficially tackiness of it all.

Which wasn't to say that he was necessarily one to speak, what with the whole black kettle saying, but, that sort of thing had never stopped him before. Only his paycheck had.

"Yeah, of course," the Egyptian replied automatically, stepping over and quickly scanning the four bar codes. One of those somehow not hideous fairy journals, an anarchy messenger bag, a pair of combat boots that were too high, and really would _never_ need that many straps (oh, but Malik _liked_ the boots), and some purple and black striped toe socks. What the _hell_. Seriously, here. Anarchy and purple toe socks?

"Would you like to donate a dollar to the make-a-wish foundation?" Malik added in an equally robotic voice, punching a couple keys on the register as the first, non-green haired girl looted around for the money. Guess that was evidence of which one was playing the man.

"No way, man. My money," she said, snorting and then handing Malik her credit card. "I work hard for this, y'know?"

Malik shook his head, swiping the card, and then passing it back to her in the same stroke as he brushed his hair behind his ear again. "Yeah, I know," he replied dully, all too uninterested. "Fuck kids, dying or not. Who gives a damn anyway?"

The two anti-prep women exchanged a look, and Malik smirked a little.

"Sign here," he continued, dropping the receipt in front of not-green as soon as he could safely get it out of the printer. "Is there anything else I can do for you?" Malik noted as he pulled out two bags, putting the journal and socks in one, the boot box and the tote in another, larger one.

"Er, nah, thanks though," little miss green replied, finally speaking for herself.

"Fine. Have a good day, ladies," Malik said with a shrug, passing them their bags and taking the signed paper, tucking it in with the rest of the credit card receipts. He watched them go, smiling dully to himself.

It was funny, how often people failed to realize when they were being total asses. Funny too, when Malik would point it out, and they'd _like_ having noticed it, though. People are so strange.

As soon as he was sure there was no one else in the store (except for Kyoko, who was _probably_ still in the back room, smoking), Malik let his purple eyes search out across the hall, to the food court again, and scan the line in front of Subway.

He wasn't there. Great, just _great_... Malik sighed, falling back to lean against the counter again. Now what?

As if in answer, his phone jingled its little text message jingle, and Malik once again took out the _Razr_, and failed to do that graceful flip open.

He'd figure that one out eventually!

Opened it properly, and hit 'read'.

_ work, y? & yes_

Malik sighed heavily, sending a praying look to the gods in the ceiling tiles. "_Please_ let something interesting happen soon. I really do not think I can possibly _stand_ this any longer."

The ceiling tile gods offered no reply, so Malik sighed again.

_thought i saw u. trick of the light?_

He paused a moment, then, before double-sending for a second message.

_u seen yuugi lately?phar's back_

Was it seriously worth all this trouble, though? It was almost like... They were all just waiting, for something to happen. Leading what most would assume was a normal life, while biding their time and expecting something colossal to come along, and change everything. Like it had done for Yuugi that first time. That, however, was a completely unrealistic idea, and had no place in anyone's life. So why did they humor it?

Malik blinked as his phone sounded off yet again. It usually took Ryou much longer to be able to read, and then respond, to his text messages, 'cause of where he worked. The phone was even still in Malik's hand, so he opened it normally, and opened the message.

_no, i havent. u think.... from th ring?_

He could just _see_ the anxious expression that must have crossed Ryou's face there. It made Malik feel kind of bad, actually. Having brought his curiosity down on Ryou, for the sake of potential mental stimulation, when he should have acknowledged that that'd probably bother Ryou greatly. Then again... Better Ryou knew, right?

_yea. he bought subway, 2, so must b._


End file.
